


All's Well That Weswell

by Hawkscape



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Fire, Food, Gift Giving, Inner Dialogue, Introspection, M/M, Mimes, Regret, Self-Hatred, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepovers, Starvation, Suspicions, Touch-Starved, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkscape/pseuds/Hawkscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell is left on his own after being freed from his throne. Wes tries to help, but the magician is suspicious to accept an olive branch from someone he once turned to stone. Will the two performers find some common ground?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadow Puppeteer

As a spark finally caught on the small pile of dry grass he had accrued, Maxwell reflected on the fact that he couldn't seem to catch a break. Tossed off his throne by the very inventor he had brought there and then left to fend for himself against all the horrors he had created. He didn't acknowledge the large amount of karma - or perhaps irony - that was taking place, for the huge amount of whatever it was would surely choke him. The former puppeteer had no illusions about what he deserved, but it didn't stop him from being annoyed about his apparent misfortune. 

He poked at the small fire he had made as darkness settled in around him. His only solace was that the uppity inventor – Wilson - had been kicked off the throne faster than he could say “unspeakable evils from beyond time and space”. He would never forgive himself for dragging Charlie into this dimension of horrors, but he supposed that if she could be anywhere in this hellscape, in charge was a pretty good place for her to be. Better than being the Grue anyway. He turned his eyes away from the hypnotizing fire to the fade into darkness that encircles his little camp. Well, she was still the Grue, but not entirely anymore. At least, he hoped. 

After he had been freed from his throne, he had, unsurprisingly, been shunned by the rest of the group of survivors on this little corner of paradise. He would occasionally catch sight of them hunting or scavenging, but they gave him nothing but wary looks and he couldn't say he blamed them. He knew that everything that had happened was largely his fault, but he was never one for apologies he didn't mean, so he left them alone to their berry picking and they didn't murder him in revenge while his back was turned. It seemed a fair trade. 

Despite this understanding, Maxwell still couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that seemed to overcome him at every still moment. He had been surrounded by others his entire life. Having a brother and then being a world famous magician didn't lend themselves to much alone time. He would never admit it to any of them, but one of his reasons for bringing all of the motley crew of survivors here was to have someone, anyone, to interact with. He may have been hidden under the guise of having playthings or even a deeper hope that someone would take the throne from him so he could be free, but the true reason was simple loneliness. 

The ex-magician flexed his hands as he ruminated on his situation. He was never one to indulge in self pity, but even he had to admit that was pretty pitiful. Maybe the devil wants people to sin simply for some company in hell. He let out a snort at that fake insight before deciding that was enough introspection for one night and summoned the Codex Umbra in front of him. He had a brief heartbeat when he contemplated throwing it in the fire for kindling. He would never do it of course - it was his only means of defending himself - but one thinks of these things when there is nothing else to think of. He wondered if it could even be burned and if destroying it would somehow be detrimental to Them. The tattered pages that he had dog eared from use suggested it could be damaged, but he doubted that it would matter to Them at all. The book had served its purpose to them, it had lured him here. If it posed any real threat to Them, They wouldn't have let him keep it. 

He had read the tome cover to cover more times than could be counted, but it was his only means of distraction. Oh, how Maxwell yearned for the boring pages of Moby-Dick or the nonsense of Alice in Wonderland. He again snorted at the comparison between Alice's wonderland and his own. Down the rabbit hole indeed. 

The only spell he had found useful in the weathered book for his use had been to make shadow clones. He again had a thought of creating some for company before quickly discarding it. He would have to be truly desperate to resort to creating his own company out of puppets. Oh, there was that cyclical irony again, coming back to haunt him. Besides, they wouldn't be much for conversation. He could make a sword or some armor, but they were basically useless with his low endurance and strength. Maxwell had never put on illusions about his physical strength. He preferred to tackle his problems with his mind. Unfortunately, being clever did not help you stave off a pack of pigmen. Thoughts such as these combined with an almost robotic scanning of the Codex Umbra were distracting enough for Maxwell to not notice something coming up behind him until it grabbed his shoulder.


	2. It's Mime Time

Maxwell leapt into action at the touch and quickly summoned a sword and two clones to face the attacker behind him. His sword stopped just light of the neck of the intruder. The sudden and drastic drop in his sanity made the magician slow to realize that the 'attacker' seemed to be the mime. Wes? Said mime froze with wide eyes as he held up a torch. Maxwell knew he posed no threat. Still, he couldn't be too careful. He banished the sword, but pointedly kept one of the clones in the darkness skirting the fire. Just in case. 

“Sneaking up on someone like that is a good way to lose that painted head of yours, pal.” The mime let out an exaggerated sigh of relief at the sword dissipating. “What do you want?” Wes shrugged off the backpack he was wearing and stashed his torch in it before pulling out a small bag. He handed it out sharply to Maxwell who instinctively jerked away from it slightly. Wes didn't seem to notice and the magician took the bag hesitantly. It was filled with berries. Small jewels of deliciousness that made the former demon remember he hadn't eaten anything in at least a day. Or was it two? He knew he had forgotten something. He was still getting used to how much upkeep it took to be a human. He ignored his stomach and raised an eyebrow at his supposed benefactor. 

“You're giving me some berries?” This must be some kind of trick. The mime nodded enthusiastically. “Why?” Wes pointed at the berries and then mimed using a walker. Ah, they were old. “Glad to know I’m ahead of the jackalopes in the line for your scraps.” His former prisoner frowned and shook his head. He took one of the berries out of the bag and ate it himself while patting his stomach to show they were good. That did allay his fears that they were actually poison and he supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. “Alright.” He turned back to his fire and began to pop the berries into his mouth, assuming the mime would be on his way. 

It was a few moments before he noticed he hadn't left. “Thanks. For the berries.” Maxwell assumed he had wanted some thanks for his good deed, but the mime still didn't move. “What do you want? A cookie?” The mimes eyes brightening up before the magician sneered. “It’s an expression. If I had a cookie I would have eaten it already. Where...where would I have even gotten a cookie?” He pinched the bridge of his nose while taking a deep breath. “Why are you still here?” He put a hand dramatically to his chest. “You have successfully delivered your olive branch of kindness to the poor wretched soul that I am, so now you can go back to the camp with the other survivors and play Simon Says or whatever it is you do when there's no one to torment you.” Wes just smiled and took it upon himself to move his pack closer to the fire and sit down opposite Maxwell. 

The magician was starting to get annoyed despite the pleasant feeling of another person in close proximity. He had almost forgotten why he had locked the mime up in the first place. It was his almost ever present joviality. It was grating. Had the survivors sent him here to drive Maxwell away? He was the least threatening of the group and thus the most likely to not get kicked out of Maxwell's camp the moment he arrived. “What? What do you want?” Wes pulled out his sleeping bag and laid it out by the fire before turning back to his companion. He put his hands folded under his head and then moved one of his hand in a sweeping motion over the other hand clenched in a fist, stationary. Maxwell understood nothing. Sleep? Sleep...orbit? Sleep above? Sleepover? Oh no, he couldn't mean that. This mime was suspicious to no end. 

The magician didn't have the energy to explain all the reasons this was odd to his new 'friend' and instead pushed out air harshly through his teeth. “You want to sleep here?” He would not say the word 'sleepover' out loud. He was a respected agent of madness goddammit. Well, emphases on was. Wes nodded frantically as he began to shimmy into his straw bag. It looked fairly humerus to watch him wiggle back in forth into the straw tube, but Maxwell was in no mood to laugh. He still had the option to simply say no and roll the mime-caterpillar into the darkness. He wondered if Charlie would appreciate the extra salad garnish or if would she take it off first like a tamale wrapper. 

The ex-puppeteer shook his head. He wasn't that evil. To long in his own head brought errant thoughts like this more readily to the surface. Maxwell also suspected there was an ever present urge to break the mime simply because of the nature of humanity to want to destroy anything that seemed to perfect. Most likely though, the magician had not had any sleep or substantial food for several days and was beginning to get irrational. He really had to improve on how he dealt with this new 'being a human' situation. 

Maybe being with another human wouldn't be that bad of an idea. It didn't mean he had to show it, though. Maxwell narrowed his eyes to a glare at the innocent looking mime fake snoring with one eye open in his sleeping bag. “Fine.” He hoped that this would be the end of it as he turned back to the fire and pointedly ignored his companion. He got the feeling this was not – in fact – the end of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop me a line!  
> http://hawkscape.tumblr.com/  
> https://www.youtube.com/c/HawkScape  
> http://hawkscape.deviantart.com/


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